


Two Men In The Woods

by WaterMe



Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Slender Man Mythos, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: ...multiverse fuckery..., A wild Nightvale reference appears, Fic or Treat, Gen, Halloween, Slender Family, horror but make it stupid, okay but can we please talk about how fucking creepy Spider-Man's whole schtick is?, the real horror is the author’s abuse of italics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-31
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:13:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27323305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WaterMe/pseuds/WaterMe
Summary: A chance encounter forces two very different heroes to face their fears.(For "Isn't It Bromantic - Fic or Treat 2020" - SCP AU)
Comments: 14
Kudos: 31
Collections: Isn't It Bromantic - Fic or Treat 2020, Isn't it Bromantic?





	Two Men In The Woods

**Author's Note:**

> Y'all, I wasn't even going to write a Halloween fic, but then this poured out of my brain and into my phone at 1am. Hopefully it makes you chuckle, or at least push a tiny huff of air through your nose before you go back to other, better parts of the internet.
> 
> (thanks to [Atemluver](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Atemluver/pseuds/Atemluver) for the beta and gratuitous cheering!)
> 
> Test, Please Ignore
> 
> ‣ Line #1, a very long line with a lot of words in it. A very long line with a lot of words in it. A very long line with a lot of words in it.  
>  ‣ Line #2, a short note.  
>  ‣ **Line # 3,** a medium length line that _does some interesting stuff_.

⦻ 🕷 ⦻ 🕷 ⦻ 

Spider-Man’s just gonna say it: he _hates_ the multiverse. 

They always seem to land somewhere weird and awful, is the thing. If it isn't a ‘verse where he and all his friends are cute, woodland creatures (rabies and all), it’s the one where they’re nudists _(shudder)._ Or the one with non-Euclidean physics (if he never has to go two dimensional again, it’ll be too soon). Or the one with… _Spiders-Man._

_Still not over him._

_Them?_

_Anyway._

Now isn't a super great time to think about the unsettling but well-intentioned abomination that is a colony of literal spiders that ate Peter Parker and now believe themselves to _be_ Peter Parker, because he (actual Peter Parker, not the one that's just spiders) has been forcibly squeezed through the oozing goo between realities and into the _most unsettling forest in the entire multiverse._

Seriously. Take the creepiest horror movie set you can think of, slap it around with some OG de-Disneyfied _Brothers Grimm,_ and then run it through an ominously red ‘hope you weren't planning on sleeping tonight’ Snapchat filter. Imagine that, but then make it _ten times more horrible._

And to round off this uncanny dumpster fire of a day, when he came careening out of the multiverse his traveling companion was nowhere to be found. 

Yup. The traveling companion with the multiverse hopping thingamajigger.

_Why does this always happen to Spider-Man?_

“Deadpool?” he calls out, with a quick glance towards the sky. A baleful comet, half the size of the moon, glares back. Ah. That’s the source of the red light, then. He shudders against the creeping sense of dread that makes itself at home in the pit of his stomach.

It’s fine. Just… don’t look up, then.

“DP? Seriously, man. Can we just go home?” 

His only answer is an unsettlingly sentient whisper in the fog, and the buzzing tingle of his spidey sense, clammy up the back of his neck. A branch snaps near him.

“I know that's you, 'Pool! This isn't funny anymore…” He trails off to a whisper at the sound of voices in the distance. _Multiple_ voices. Voices that are very much _not_ those of a certain loudmouthed mercenary. 

Instead, they sound like… kids? 

Gritting his teeth, he creeps closer.

On the one hand… it would be just Spidey's luck if they were creepy murder children. 

On the other hand, if there _are_ kiddos out here, they definitely need a hero. 

On the third hand (Spidey checks… still only two hands, phew. Not doing _that_ again)... On the _other-_ other hand: _creepy murder children._

He freezes as he hears an older voice, reedy like the night wind whistling around gravestones. “You stay right here, children. I'll be back soon, and then I'll take _such good care of you._ ”

Well, crap. 

Hero it is, then.

He waits until he hears the rustle of a retreating figure before gingerly pushing through the underbrush. There are seven children, exactly half of them girls and half of them boys, and approximately all of Spidey's head hurts if he thinks about it too hard. They huddle together, gently quivering against the night air, heads held close. Their filthy, old-fashioned short pants and pinafores make them look like creepy dolls brought to life, but hey… scared kids are scared kids, right? 

“Hi, kids, do you need” — they turn at his voice — _“heeeeelp!”_

These children do _not have faces._

And yet somehow, without mouths, they start to scream and cry like any other group of terrified children. 

This does _not make anything better._

Spidey stumbles backwards out of the clearing. He swears he hears one of them say, “Oh no, save us from Spiderman!” but that can't be right. They must have meant, _‘_ _Save us, Spider-Man!’_ Sorry, ominous babies. You can find your _own_ way home.

He flees in a panic, rounds a corner and _oof,_ right into something tall and bony and _alive._ He ricochets off and bounces his way high up a tree, looks down — 

— and starts screaming. 

The spindly horror below lets out an extended screech of its own. Probably a sound weapon of some kind? Spidey isn't going to stop screaming himself long enough to find out. Pushing backwards on the branches under his palms, he retreats farther into the trees. Mister Tall, Dark, and So-Not-Handsome screams louder. 

“Will you _stop moving like that?”_ it gasps. 

Wait. What? 

Spidey takes a breath. “You first! With your… arms! And your… lack of eyes!” 

“You’re one to talk about eyes! You have _too_ __many_ _eyes!” 

“Wha — I only have the two!” 

The monster somehow manages to glare balefully. “Well that's two too many, in my opinion. Anyway. I'm not going to let you eat those children.”

“I wasn't going to eat the kids! I'm _Spider-Man._ ” 

“I know what you are.” Drawing up even taller, it takes a long, brittle step forward. Spidey scuttles back, and its creatively-jointed arms flail up to clutch at its head. “Spiderman is the monster under the bed. Hiding in the bushes outside your mausoleum, just waiting to jump out and eat any children who stray from the path. Or in the corner of the shower, on those dark nights when you get up to get a glass of water at 3am. Just watching… behind the shower curtain… waiting for you to turn your back. Spiderman is a _cannibal.”_

“Okay, so, first, I don’t eat people. Second, if I was a spider, and also a cannibal, wouldn't I eat other spiders? Not… uh. Wait, do you consider yourself ‘people’?”

“Huh…” the creature says. One spindly finger unfurls to its chin. 

“Anyway, you're the monster. You're Slenderman — ” 

“ — you're saying it wrong, it's Slender-Man — ” 

“ — you straight up steal kids!” 

“I do no such thing!” 

“Yeah? Then what about those kids back there?” 

“That's Eternal Scout Troupe #666. I'm a scout leader! It's good for my PR — keeps those ghouls at the _Bugle_ off my back!” 

“I’m… gonna hope you meant that figuratively,” says Spidey. “Anyway, you're just so… creepy.”

 _“I'm_ creepy?” Slender-Man gestures wildly in his direction. “Why am _I_ creepy? _Look at yourself._ With the legs, and the scuttling, and the gigantic eyes…” 

Spidey assesses his position in the branches. Sure, he’s upside down, legs splayed wide. And yeah, maybe the large, white lenses _can_ be a little much, especially if you don’t know it’s a mask. He cranes his neck back up, head tipped up to keep Slender-Man in his sights. The eldritch being shudders. Okay, so maybe the wall-crawling schtick _is_ a tad unsettling. But this is _Slender-Man._

“Well, you're still the creepy one. Because you're… uh…” Spidey rubs the back of his neck. “...tall?”

“Because I'm _tall._ ” If lack-of-looks could kill… “I'll have you know I have a _condition._ ”

“Oh,” says Spidey. 

“Yup.”

"Look, man, I’m sorry. I didn't know.”

“Uh huh.” Slender-Man somehow gives the distinct impression of an exaggerated eye roll. “Whatever. I'm assuming this is some kind of multiverse thing? So I'm going to give you the benefit of the doubt and assume you don't mean any harm to the spawn. If you just… leave… we never have to see each other again. Fair?” 

“Fair.” 

There was a long, tense pause. 

“Yeah…” Spidey says. “So if you could just… leave first, that'd be greaaa — _oh_ my god you just grew like six inches!” 

Slender-Man rears back, fingers elongating like a time-lapse of a forest growing from seed and then decaying back to the dust from whence it came. “You think I'm foolish enough to turn my back on _Spiderman?_ They found my Uncle Beezleben’s body covered in fang marks! _Beside a water spout!”_

“I don't — ! For the last time, I don't eat people! It was probably a vampire or something!” 

Slender-Man gasps, a hallowing death rattle. “You can't say that! That's _racist!”_

Spidey sputters. “I’m not — ! It doesn't matter! I'm not turning my back on Slenderman!” 

“Well, I'm not leaving first!”

The sentient fog, uncomfortable around social awkwardness, decides that this is as good a time as any to dissipate and leave them to it.

  
  


⦻ 🕷 ⦻ 🕷 ⦻

  
  


Meanwhile, on the other side of town, the front half of a bar cat scampers merrily across Deadpool’s boots, unbothered by its own lack of hindquarters.

The mercenary sits up with a coo, scratching the cat under the chin and ignoring the staticky glare from the television-headed bartender. Weasel’s face flickers with a colorful test pattern of irritation, and his antennae twitch as he pushes a dented copper mug in Deadpool’s general direction. Thick, off-white fog pours over the sides. 

From the corner, Dopinder gives Deadpool an enthusiastic thumbs up, sipping the diet coke he brought from home before passing it to… Dopinder. His twin beams, and passes back a blue can that proudly proclaims that it’s ‘Made With Natural Ghosts!’

That seems fine.

Deadpool isn't sure what creepy Dopinder's deal is, because the two of them look, talk, and act _exactly_ the same. He drew a big sharpie X on the back of his Dopinder's hand when they arrived, but the next time he turned around the Dopindganger had an X of his own, perfectly matched down to the stray pubic hair. 

Okay, it was a dick. He drew a dick on Dopinder as an identifying mark. 

Heh, and now they both have one. _Classic._ Buy one, get one for good ole 'Pool. 

He isn't sure how he's going to take the right one home with him. 

Eh. More important things to worry about, right now.

“I'm surprised they haven't found us yet. Usually my guy is ready to skedaddle straight out of a ‘verse like this.” He raises his drink to his mouth. A sickening green bubble breaks the surface, and the bar holds its breath. Deadpool laughs. “Hah! Idiot. Can't drink through my mask!”

A hiss of a voice beside him, and a long-beaked red and black mask tilts in acknowledgement. “Ssslendy doesss tend to get… caught up, making… friendsss. A regular… ch-ch-chatterbox.”

There's a loud _slurp_ as the masked figure takes a drink of a garish cocktail, the cheery pink liquid swirling up a ludicrously twisty straw. It idles with a cocktail sword, mercilessly impaling a cherry until its obsidian talons shine with sticky juice. 

“Yeah.” Deadpool grins. “They're probably having a grand old time frolicking in the spooky-ass forest! Or, as you call it in your culture, the forest!” 

Pushing the mask above his nose, he takes a gulp of his drink. Weasel leans close with a leer. Deadpool shudders from tip to taint, shaking his head as steam shoots out his ears. 

“Hot diggity!” he yelps, slamming his mug to the bar. Drops go flying with a _sizzle_ as they hit the wood surface, eating holes through his leather glove. The distinct aroma of ceviche fills the air. Deadpool whoops again. “That arsenic really hits the spot! Another, good TeeVeasel, with extra isotopes this time!”

There’s a stunned silence, and then the chatter and cackles of the crowd slowly pick back up as everyone goes back to their preternatural conversations. 

Plaguepool leans forward and brushes a sharp claw against its companion's scarred cheek. "You knowwwww," it hisses. "I think I have a sssalve, for that." 

  
  


⦻ 🕷 ⦻ 🕷 ⦻

  
  


_Spiderman, Spiderman!_

_Does whatever a spider can_

_Lurks at night, haunts your dreams_

_Not a soul will hear your screams_

_Look out! Here comes the Spiderman!_

**Author's Note:**

> Is this a continuation of ['Mr. Pool's Wild Ride'](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23233978)? I'm not saying it is, but I'm not saying it ain't...
> 
> Anyway, what's important is that I would die for [Josie the half cat.](http://www.scpwiki.com/scp-529)


End file.
